


(You Can't) Just Listen

by Duck_Life



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Autistic Christine Canigula, Brainwashing, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Control, Post-Squip, Psychological Trauma, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Trans Michael Mell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-05 02:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11568006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: The Squip left Jeremy's head more of a mess than anyone realizes. After a panic attack during a trip to NYC, he reacts by following any command given to him, whether or not he wants to.





	1. In New York You Can Be A New Man

_ Jeremy stumbles over the uneven sidewalk, trying to keep his head screwed on straight even though the world around him feels like it’s spinning. He doesn’t notice the cinder block in front of him until he trips over it, scraping his palms, and then as he scrambles to his feet again, he notices the three people watching him.  _

_ A woman with dark hair sneers at him. “Hey kiddo, why so blue? Whyn’t you give us a little smile?” He obeys. He can’t help it.  _

_ “Oh shit, Vi, he actually did!” crows one of the men.  _

_ Jeremy backs up against the wall of the alley, making himself small. He shouldn’t be here, he should have stayed inside the theater, but he needed air, he just needed to breathe.  _

_ The second man steps forward. “Alright, now give me that nice cell phone you got.” Jeremy hands it over; he can’t resist even if he wants. “What a polite young gentleman! Ain’t he a gentleman? People don’t follow directions like you every day, you know.” _

_ “He ain’t polite,” the other man says. “Look at him. Touch your nose, kid. Turn around twice.” Jeremy does. “Jesus Christ, look at him. He’s like uh, fuckin’, Anne Hathaway, you know? Princess Diaries?” _

_ “Ella Enchanted, dumbass,” the woman says.  _

_ “What else can you do, Ella Enchanted?”  _

**TWO DAYS EARLIER**

It was Christine’s idea, but it didn’t take a lot of convincing for the rest of the squad to get on board. She’s not the only one who wanted to see Hamilton on Broadway, and besides, they could all use a little vacation after the shitshow that was junior year. 

“Buddy system!” Mr. Heere yells after them as Michael and Jeremy climb into the backseat of Jake’s car. “Don’t do drugs! Take a picture with the Naked Cowboy if you see him!”

“Bye Dad, love you!” Jeremy yells back before rolling the window up, and then they’re cruising. “Rich, can you pass the Doritos?” 

Rich starts to hand him back the bag of chips, but Jake grabs his wrist, still with one hand on the steering wheel. “No snacks until we get to I-95,” Jake insists. “Driver’s rules.” 

“Driver’s rules don’t include picking the music, do they?” Michael asks, hands already itching for the aux cord.

“Thank you for reminding me, Mello Yello,” Jake says with a shit-eating grin, popping in a CD of Shania Twain’s greatest hits. 

Michael’s glad he brought his headphones along.

* * *

 

They meet up with the girls at a Denny’s on the way there and eat brinner, complete with whipped cream smiley face pancakes and hot chocolate. “Can you guys believe that this time two days from now, we’ll be sitting in the Richard Rodgers Theatre watching Hamilton: An American Musical?” Christine squeals, setting her glass bottle root beer back on the table. “Aah, I’m so excited!” she adds, and promptly begins infodumping about the Hamilton cast, original and new, Lin-Manuel Miranda and Javier Muñoz, Renee Elise Goldsberry and Mandy Gonzalez. 

Halfway through Christine’s analysis of “The Story of Tonight (Reprise)” and why it’s better than “The Story of Tonight,” Jeremy’s eyes glaze over, and Michael can tell it’s not the typical Christine-is-adorable-but-long-winded glazing-over. 

“Hey,” he says, nudging Jeremy under the table with his foot. He flashes him an okay sign with his fingers and a worried look. He mouths,  _ You okay? _

Jeremy nods, but his eyes still look troubled. Michael slides him the rest of his pancakes (he’s full) and keeps an eye on him until they’re back in the car and on their way to the hotel. 

“Jake and I are getting the bigger bed when we get to the room,” Rich announces as they get back on the road.

“Both the beds are the same size,” Jake says. 

“Still.”

In the darkness, Michael pulls Jeremy across the seat toward him and wraps his arm around his best friend’s shoulders, tucking his head against his chest. Jeremy hums his appreciation and nuzzles back into the familiar comfort of Michael’s old hoodie. 

“Rich,” Jeremy says suddenly, “what kind of stuff does your Squip say?” 

Jake and Michael look surprised by the question, but Rich doesn’t. “Burn Jake’s stuff.”

“Rich!” Jake hisses.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Rich says. “What, poor taste? No, Jere-Bear, my Squip just, you know, it says mean shit. That I sound stupid, and no one takes me seriously, and I’m a waste of space.” 

Jake, looking upset, reaches a hand over to pat Rich’s knee. “None of that’s true.”

“Duh, I know, I’m awesome,” Rich says, but Michael can tell he appreciates hearing Jake disagree with the Squip. “Why? You hearing him right now, Jeremy?”

Michael looks down at Jeremy, waiting for his response. “No, no,” Jeremy says, but he curls into Michael a little tighter. “Just wondering.”

* * *

 

That night in the boys’ hotel room (the beds  _ are _ identical, but Rich still insists that the one he shares with Jake is bigger), Jeremy ducks into the bathroom to change from his T-shirt into a bigger T-shirt to sleep in. 

Jake glances at the door Jeremy just closed and then at Michael. “He knows we don’t mind seeing his scars, right?” he says, sounding concerned. “I want him to feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” Michael says, feeling oddly like Jeremy’s keeper. “He’s just, um, I guess it’s a bad day?” 

“Mm,” Jake hums, flopping down onto the bed beside Rich. “Take it easy, Jere!” he calls through the wall. “Sleep tight. Big day tomorrow.” 

Jeremy sleeps next to Michael, mumbling every now and then as he tosses and turns. Michael would be annoyed if he couldn’t hear snatches of what Jeremy’s saying in his sleep. “... sorry, so so sorry, I’ll be better… everything about me is just terrible… didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry…” 

Somehow, Michael manages to drift to sleep, but he has nightmares about watching Jeremy drowning as he watches on, helpless.

* * *

 

They go sightseeing the next day, feasting on hot dogs from street vendors and taking countless photographs in front of their favorite landmarks. Jake and Michael go nuts in FAO Schwarz, with Michael dancing across the big piano expertly. 

All day, though, Jeremy looks a little out of it, retreating in on himself, turtling in his cardigan. Michael’s grateful when Christine pulls Jeremy into a coat check room on one of their stops, claiming she needs to wind down from sensory overload (which might be true, but it’s also true that Jeremy needs a breather and won’t admit it). 

Times Square is where everything goes to shit, though. 

They’re all clumped together on the sidewalk, admiring the humongous signs and the lights and the life. And then Michael can hear Jeremy beside him softly start to hyperventilate. He whirls toward his best friend, stretching his arms out like he can fix everything with a well-timed hug, but Jeremy flinches away from the contact. His panicked eyes swivel from ad to ad, and Michael’s stomach lurches-- there’s a giant illuminated poster for “John Wick: Chapter 3” looming above them. 

Keanu Reeves’ face glares down at them like the eye of Sauron. 

“Hey, Jere, it’s alright,” Michael says, hoping he sounds soothing as he tries to herd Jeremy away from the throng of people without touching him too much. He looks like a kicked dog. “Just Keanu. Just good old Keanu, it’s not… that. He’s not back. You’re okay.” 

Jeremy nods, but he doesn’t look relieved, just frantic and strained. “Mikey…”

“I’m right here. Just tell me what you need.”

“To go back to the hotel.” He didn’t expect Jeremy to snap to an answer so fast, but he’s glad he knows how to help now. 

Michael turns to the rest of their group and tells them he’s taking Jeremy back to the hotel to wind down. Christine looks concerned and offers to take care of him so Michael can keep doing touristy things, but he shakes his head. For one thing, he doesn’t want Jeremy to feel like a burden who needs to get passed around the group. 

And also… he’s really, really worried. He needs to make sure for himself that Jeremy’s going to be okay. “Okay,” he says, one hand hovering by Jeremy’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” 

Jeremy immediately marches forward with him like an obedient ant, and Michael shakes his head as they navigate the streets. Just get back to the hotel. That’s all he needs to do, get Jeremy back to the hotel. 


	2. I Did Exactly As You Said

By the time they get through the door, Jeremy’s breaths keep rushing in and out of him like a storm at sea, relentless, the panic in his eyes evident. “Shh, shh,” Michael soothes, walking Jeremy to their bed and sitting down cross-legged on one side. “Just sit.”

Jeremy responds immediately, almost falling down in his haste to do what Michael says. He mimics Michael’s pose, criss-cross applesauce on top of the bedspread, and Michael takes his stands, starts walking him through the process of calming down. “Deep breaths, Jere. Think of five things you can see.” 

“You. Y-your glasses. The lamp. The door. Rich’s backpack.”

“Good. You’re doing really good, Jeremy.” He keeps going, asking Jeremy for four things he can feel (the scratchy bedspread, Michael’s warm hands, the puff of the A/C blowing on him, the pillow under his knee), three things he can hear (Michael’s voice, the whirr of the A/C, the murmur of a television through the wall), two he can smell (Michael’s peach shampoo and the cigarette stench that never leaves hotels), one he can taste (the popcorn kernel stuck in his teeth). 

Jeremy’s breathing steadies quickly, faster than Michael’s ever been able to talk him down before. He’s just grateful that Jeremy doesn’t look so rattled anymore; he isn’t concerned about the way Jeremy seems intent to do as he’s told, almost compulsively. 

“You should take a shower,” Michael suggests, just thinking Jeremy might feel more comfortable clean and warm. The force with which Jeremy rockets off the bed actually sends Michael backward, falling against the pillows. “Uh, okay,” he says, watching as the bathroom door shuts. Seconds later, he hears the water switch on. “Okay,” he mumbles, a little confused. Usually Jeremy’s executive dysfunction keeps him procrastinating his showers, sometimes for hours. 

But Michael can’t really focus on that with the exhaustion of the day finally hitting him. Peeling off his binder and tossing it in his duffel bag, he tugs on an overlarge sleep shirt, sets his glasses on the bedside table, and settles back on the bed. With the sound of water running in the background, he drifts to sleep.

* * *

 

According to the bedside clock, Michael wakes up about two and a half hours later, and he’s got a crick in his neck. And he can still hear water running. Either Jake or Rich must’ve wanted a shower after they got back, he guesses, but then he realizes the other side of his bed’s still empty. 

“Jesus Christ,” Michael mumbles, jamming his glasses on before jumping up and going to the bathroom door. “Jere? You still in there?” 

Quiet, and then… “Yes.” 

“I’m coming in,” Michael says, because there can’t be any  _ good _ reason Jeremy’s been in the shower for over two hours, even if he  _ was _ jacking off. Michael pushes the door open and grabs one of the fluffy white towels from the shelf above the toilet. He cranes around the curtain and switches the water off before wrapping the towel around Jeremy, grateful that the hot water doesn’t run out in hotels. At least Jeremy’s not shivering, but he  _ is _ covered in splotchy red marks where the hot water’s been repeatedly hitting him. 

Keeping the towel around Jeremy, Michael helps him out of the shower stall, too concerned to be weirded out by how extremely naked Jeremy is under the towel. He’ll think about it later ( _ no, bad, friends don’t think about stuff like that later, friends help out now and they don’t think about it, don’t think about it _ ); right now he needs to help Jeremy. 

He maneuvers Jeremy out of the bathroom and gets him to sit on the edge of the bed, clutching the towel around himself. “Jeremy,” Michael says carefully, like he’s handling a wounded animal, “why were you in there for so long?” 

Jeremy sniffs, unable to meet Michael’s eyes. “Y-you… you told me to take a shower but you didn’t tell me to stop.” 

Is he kidding? Michael stares, trying to make sense of it. “But you… Jeremy, you could have gotten out whenever you wanted. It’s not like you need my  _ permission _ \--”

“No, no, n-no,” Jeremy says, teeth chattering despite his flushed skin as he shakes his head back and forth. “I can’t just  _ listen _ , I have to obey.”

Michael’s stomach turns, and he can see the fear in the set of Jeremy’s shoulders. He knows the Squip used to shock him when he disobeyed. Is that what he thinks will happen now? “Jeremy,” Michael says slowly, “I’m not gonna hurt you. You don’t have to listen to anybody but yourself. Okay?” 

Jeremy shakes his head, trembling from head to foot. “ _ Everything about me is so terrible _ .”

“No, no, Jeremy, no it’s not,” Michael says as tears prick his eyes, but Jeremy seems to take it as scolding. 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” he says, curling in on himself, water from his bangs dripping down past his eyes. “I’ll do better, I’ll be better, I know I’m so terrible and I ruin everything, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

“Shh, shh,” Michael says, pushing up his glasses so he can wipe at his eyes. “Jeremy, look at me.”  _ Shit, shit _ , he didn’t mean to phrase that as a command. Jeremy looks up and meets his eyes obediently, but at least he’s starting to look more like himself. “Is it… do you, like, have to do whatever anyone tells you to?”

Slowly, Jeremy nods. “I’m sorry,” he says in a low voice. “I’m sorry, Michael. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“It’s okay,” Michael says, combing his fingers through Jeremy’s damp hair. He just wants to help, there’s gotta be a way for him to help. He knows trauma does awful things to people, and the Squip wasn’t any normal abuser, it had all those bizarre science fiction capabilities. Jeremy’s had bad days since the Squip got deactivated, but this weekend’s been the worse, and Michael knows seeing Keanu Reeves’ face caused him to spiral. And now Jeremy’s basically been programmed like a robot. Input a command, get a response. “Jeremy? Is it okay with you if I tell you to do something?” 

Jeremy nods immediately. 

“Mm-hmm, okay,” Michael says, putting a hand on each of Jeremy’s shoulders. “Repeat after me. You are so valuable.”

Jeremy sniffles, but then he obeys. “I am so valuable.” 

“That’s right,” Michael says. “You are so important.” 

“I am so important.” 

Ridiculously, Michael suddenly thinks of “The Help.”  _ You is smart, you is kind, you is important _ . “You are perfect just the way you are.” 

“I am… perfect… just the way I am.” It looks like he disagrees, but he still has to do whatever Michael says, and even though Michael’s happy for the chance to make Jeremy say nice things about himself, his stomach still twists uncomfortably. He’s not cool with taking away his best friend’s freewill, even if it is to make him feel better. How is he supposed to fix this? 

“Has this happened before?” Michael asks, rubbing gentle circles into Jeremy’s left shoulder with his thumb. He forgets how scrawny Jeremy is, sharp collarbones poking upward. Michael can practically see his ribs. 

Jeremy shakes his head. “I mean, not since… well, I had to do whatever he told me to do. Or he would… I mean, or I would get myself electrocuted.” Michael tries not to wince at the change from active to passive voice, at Jeremy shifting the blame from the Squip to himself. “But right now, like for the past few hours… it’s like there’s knives in my head, and if I don’t do what I’m told it  _ hurts _ , and I just… I have to do it. I just have to.” 

God, he looks terrified. Michael aches at the thought of what might have happened if Jeremy relapsed like this around anyone else, someone who might use it to their own advantage. “We’ll figure this out, Jere,” he promises, thinking about Mountain Dew Red and the internet and maybe asking Rich for advice. “For now… can you tell me what  _ you want _ to do?”

Jeremy has to think about it. “I want to go to sleep,” he says. “I’m so tired.” 

“Okay, buddy,” Michael says, leaning over and grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt from Jeremy’s duffel. He hands the clothes gently to Jeremy and then turns around, facing the wall, giving Jeremy privacy to get changed. 

He doesn’t hear any movement. 

“Um,” Jeremy says, sounding scared and upset, “c-can you tell me to get dressed?”

Michael’s about to turn around, but then he realizes it probably wouldn’t be good for Jeremy to see the look of distress he knows he’s making with his face. “So,” he says slowly, trying to get a grip on the situation, “is it like… you can’t do  _ anything _ unless you’re ordered to?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Jeremy says. “I’m just so tired. I just don’t want to move a muscle.” 

“Get dressed,” Michael says, and then coughs. “Please,” he adds, because he might have complete control over Jeremy’s actions but he can at least be polite about it. Behind him, he hears Jeremy slip out of the towel and pulls his sweatpants on, then pull the T-shirt over his head. 

Michael hangs the towel over the bathroom door to dry and then pulls back the bedcovers, guiding Jeremy to lie down beside him before he sets his glasses back down. He switches off the lamp and rolls over, hugging Jeremy close to him. 

Jeremy starts to cry, his face tucked into Michael’s shoulder. “I’m scared,” he admits through the tears. “I’m really scared.”

“I know you are,” Michael says, and shit, so is he. Maybe it’s only been a few hours, but who knows how long this could go on? He’s seen “Jessica Jones,” he knows this is bad, bad, bad. But all he can do is hug Jeremy tighter as they both try to sleep. 


	3. And Suddenly I'm Helpless

“No.”

“Jeremy, please,” Michael says. It’s morning and they’re being quiet because Jake and Rich are in the bathroom fighting over a tube of toothpaste and Michael hasn’t told them yet about Jeremy’s situation. “It’ll be easy, okay? We can rent a car and drive back home, we can get the Mountain Dew Red from my basement and you can recover somewhere safe and familiar.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “And everyone will know how weak and stupid I am,” he says. “I don’t want to ruin the trip.” 

The good news is, he’s a little more capable of making his own decisions today. But he still responds obediently to anything anyone says (Jake unknowingly told him to turn the TV on and he responded so swiftly he almost broke the remote). And the other bad news is Jeremy refuses to take care of himself and go back home. 

“You’re not gonna ruin the trip,” Michael promises. “Everyone else cares about you and just wants you to feel better.”

“I already have my ticket to the musical,” Jeremy reminds him, combing his hair in the mirror above the dresser. “And Chris’ll be crushed if I don’t go.” 

“She would be even more upset if she knew how messed up you were.” Jeremy flinches and he immediately backpedals. “I mean, not messed up. You know what I mean.” 

“If you don’t want me to go,” Jeremy says stubbornly, “just order me not to.” 

He knows he’s won. Michael’s not going to actually give Jeremy a command he doesn’t want to hear. “Fine,” Michael says, putting his hands up in surrender, but his expression is sour. “Fine, Jeremy. But can you promise to let me know the second something feels wrong?” 

“I promise,” Jeremy says, just as Rich and Jake come out of the bathroom.

* * *

 

Michael spends the whole morning trying not to make any imperative statements, always careful to ask Jeremy things like “ _ Would you mind taking a selfie with me and this statue? _ ” and  _ “Can I please have one of your tater tots? _ ” It’s like one of those drinking games where you can only speak in questions. Except if he messes up, instead of having to drink, he has to live with the guilt of taking advantage of his best friend. 

Michael knows he’s probably overdramatizing it. He’s already  _ been _ giving Jeremy commands, and plus, it’s not like Jeremy isn’t aware of the situation. He’s just worried. 

They don’t tell anyone else in the group because Jeremy doesn’t want people worrying about him, which is fine, except that Michael can’t reasonably tell them to stop saying things like  _ “Come here!”  _ and  _ “You have to buy this cheesy Big Apple keychain, Jeremy!” _ and “ _ Look at that dog!”  _ (Jeremy almost strains his neck turning to look… but in Brooke’s defense, he probably would’ve done that even  _ without _ his freaky obedience programming.) 

Michael has the idea of letting Jeremy borrow his headphones to block out any errant commands he might accidentally hear and be forced to follow, but then he realizes that it’s not just about what Jeremy can  _ hear _ . A truck drives past emblazoned with a big ad that says simply DRINK COKE, and Jeremy immediately runs to the nearest street vendor to buy a can. 

Boy, if Michael didn’t hate capitalism enough  _ already _ …

* * *

 

Michael spends the whole day worrying, conjuring up horrible scenarios in his head where someone tells Jeremy to jump into traffic and he does. They go to the top of the Empire State Building and Michael doesn’t care what it looks like, he grabs Jeremy’s hand and doesn’t let go until they’re back on the ground floor, he’s so, so scared that someone’s going to say,  _ “Jump off the building _ ” and Jeremy’s going to be powerless to refuse. 

They’re irrational fears, but then again, whatever Jeremy’s going through isn’t exactly rational. 

Miraculously, they make it to the Richard Rodgers Theatre without serious incident. Rich drags everyone over to one of the concessions bars and starts loading up on Skittles while Christine orders a root beer, vibrating with excitement. 

“We made it,” Michael says to Jeremy, squeezing his hand for reassurance. 

Jeremy smiles. “Yeah,” he says.

The show starts, and it’s… spectacular. Michael’s not even a huge  _ fan _ of Hamilton (he much prefers “In The Heights”) but he knows when something’s good, and this play is  _ great _ . Jeremy’s getting really into it, too, tapping his feet rhythmically and bopping along to each song in his seat. His lips move soundlessly along with the words, up until partway through “My Shot” when he gets too entranced by the performance that he can only watch. 

Michael keeps glancing over at him to make sure he’s okay, but for the first time all day Jeremy looks better than okay. Maybe everything’s going to be fine, after all. 

Wrong! When the actors start singing, “Raise a glass, raise a glass,” Jeremy can’t help but jerk his water cup up for each time, growing more and more mortified. The people around them look annoyed, their friends look concerned. 

Jeremy turns bright red and runs out of the performance hall, leaving his souvenir cup on the floor behind him. 

Going against everything she believes, Christine actually turns her focus  _ away _ from the stage and leans across Jake and Jenna to whisper to Michael, “Is he okay?” 

Michael nods, pushing himself up to go after Jeremy. Fortunately, they’re near the end of the row and he doesn’t have to disturb too many people as he wends his way to the aisle and out of the auditorium.

* * *

 

Jeremy paces rapidly back and forth in the lobby, his hands twitching. “Hey,” Michael says, jogging up to him. “You alright?”

Jeremy shakes his head. “I’m an idiot, I’m such a stupid idiot, I shouldn’t have come.” 

“You’re not an idiot,” Michael says, moving closer. He wants to hug Jeremy, give him some kind of comfort, but he doesn’t want to startle him. “Do you need me to help you calm down?” Jeremy shakes his head. “Tell me what you-- shit, no, sorry. I mean, I mean what do you want right now?” 

“I need… I think I just… I need a break,” Jeremy finally decides. “Just some fresh air, cool down. I’ll be okay.” He’s looking at the doors to the sidewalk.

“I’ll come with you,” Michael says.

“No.” Michael looks hurt, but then Jeremy’s expression toward him softens, gets more affectionate. “Sorry, Michael, but… I just need to get a handle on myself, and I can’t do that when you’re staring at me with your worried teddy bear eyes.” 

Michael sighs. “Okay, buddy,” he says, giving him a little wave. “Just… I’ll, you know, I’ll be inside when you’re ready.” He ducks away, head pounding. Jeremy needs space, though, and he can do that. He can give Jeremy space to come back to himself. As he walks back into the performance hall, he hears the door to the outside swing shut behind him.

* * *

 

Throughout the next few songs, Michael realizes it’s really, really a good thing Jeremy isn’t there to hear some of the lyrics. He should’ve taken another listen to the soundtrack before tonight, given the number of imperative statements that Jeremy might’ve had to follow… “Meet me inside,” “Go home, Alexander,” or God-forbid, “Turn around, bend over/I’ll show you where my shoe fits.” 

Intermission comes and goes and Jeremy isn’t back yet, and Michael gets antsier and antsier. Everyone asks about Jeremy and he says Jeremy just needed some space, but he’s really worried now. Even Brooke, who doesn’t know the full story and thinks Jeremy’s just having bad anxiety, seems really concerned about how long he’s been gone. 

During “Take a Break,” Michael decides to do just that. He whispers something to Jake about checking on Jeremy and then he’s walking out to the empty lobby again. No Jeremy. He steps out into the humid night air and looks left and right, trying to figure out where Jeremy might have gone. The streets swarm with people and he feels panic climbing up his throat.

Michael wanders down the sidewalk, trying to keep his head screwed on straight even though the world around him feels like it’s spinning. He doesn’t notice the cinder block up ahead until he’s right in front of it, and he narrowly avoids tripping over it. 

When that happens, his ears suddenly tune into the voices around the corner. 

“Touch your nose, kid. Turn around twice,” a man’s voice jeers. “Jesus Christ, look at him. He’s like uh, fuckin’, Anne Hathaway, you know? Princess Diaries?”

“Ella Enchanted, dumbass,” a woman’s voice joins in. Michael feels cold sweat bead up on the back of his neck, and he feels nauseated. It’s not hard to guess what kid they might be talking about. 

“What else can you do, Ella Enchanted?” the man says, his voice taunting.


	4. Lord, Show Me How To Say No To This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for self-injury by burning and threats of sexual assault

Michael edges around the cinder block to get a better view down the dark alley. He can see the woman and two men, all dressed in the kind of casual dishevelment that indicates they while they may hang out on the street, they don’t  _ live _ on the street. They’re not homeless, they’re not in need. They’re just here for fun. 

“P-please…” When he hears Jeremy’s voice, Michael’s heart climbs up into his throat, and he feels like his whole body thrums with his pulse. From his vantage point, all he can really see is Jeremy’s elbow, the rest of him hidden by the wall. “I j-just want to go.”

“No, don’t go anywhere,” the second man says, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and holding it out to Jeremy. “You’ll do anything we say, huh? Take that and burn yourself with it.” 

Before Michael can move or say anything, he hears the hiss of pain from Jeremy that means he must’ve done what the man asked. Michael feels like he’s falling down a deep hole, tumbling further and further away from the light. He shakes his head, makes fists, digs his fingernails into his palms to ground himself. He can do this.

Michael steps into the mouth of the alley, glaring at the men and the woman as ferociously as he can. “Leave him  _ alone _ .”

“Oh shit,” the cigarette man says, but he looks more amused than afraid. “Here, kid, gimme that back.” Obediently, Jeremy hands over the cigarette, the angry mark on the back of his hand glowing pink-white-red, and then he turns to face Michael. 

He looks…  _ terrible _ . His hands are shaking and his face is white, with nervous red hives popping up on his neck. He’s crying. A vein bunches in his forehead; he must be making every effort he can to reject the orders these people are giving, but it’s not enough. 

And yet, despite the terror in his face, he looks so, so relieved to see Michael standing there. “We’re leaving,” Michael says, trying to make his voice sound authoritative and intimidating. 

“Tell your friend here to get lost,” the first man says in a low, dangerous voice, and Jeremy flinches as he looks up to meet Michael’s eyes. 

“G-go away, Michael,” he says, tears pouring down his face without pause. His eyes are screaming for Michael to stay, for Michael to help him.

“I’m not gonna do that,” Michael says, planting his feet. He wishes he’d thought to drag Jake and Rich (and hell, even Chloe) along with him, because he may not be as scrawny as Jeremy but he definitely isn’t going to be able to fight all these people alone. “Because I don’t have to do whatever anyone else tells me to do, and neither do you, Jeremy.” 

The woman snickers. “His name’s Jeremy?” she says, fiddling with her nose ring. “Hey, Jeremy, punch him!”

Mechanically, Jeremy’s arm lurches out and his fist connects with Michael’s face. At first, Michael’s too stunned to even feel hurt, but a second later he feels the stinging ache on his nose and cheek. 

Worse than the pain, though, is Jeremy’s reaction. He’s absolutely bawling now, snot stemming from his nose as he shakes with sobs. Michael didn’t want to give him a command, worried about traumatizing him even more, but this has gone too far. “Jeremy, get behind me.” 

“Jeremy, don’t,” the woman says. Jeremy’s feet stay rooted in place.

“Come on, it’s okay,” Michael says softly, just to Jeremy, just to Jeremy alone. “Shh, it’s okay. Just come here.” Looking relieved to respond to a command from Michael, Jeremy shuffles forward, but one of the men calls out to him. 

“Stop walking! Turn around.” 

Jeremy does, looking sick before he reluctantly turns away from the dim light of the street. Michael can’t see his face anymore and his heart lurches with dread. What the hell is he supposed to do? 

“Good boy,” the man cackles. “Let’s see how good you  _ really _ are at doing what you’re told.” Michael can’t really see the man’s hands in the dark, but he hears it: the unmistakable sound of that bastard unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans.

Michael doesn’t think, he just acts. He sees red and he launches himself forward at Jeremy, wrapping his arms tight around Jeremy’s chest and forcibly dragging him back toward the mouth of the alley, wishing he’d done so right from the start. Someone’s shouting. 

It takes him a second to realize the shouting is coming from him. “ _ I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you all I swear to God, you don’t touch him, you don’t talk to him _ .” He backs up, still towing Jeremy as the two men converge on them, the woman still behind them watching and enjoying the show. 

Michael’s heart hammers in his chest. Any second now they’ll just tell Jeremy to fight his way out of Michael’s arms, and there’s nothing he can do, nothing, nothing, nothing. Jeremy sags in his arms, a miserable marionette for these awful people to do with as they please, and Michael’s heart cracks like an egg.  _ Jeremy _ . 

And then suddenly, he hears footsteps running up behind him. And…

“BLANCHE DUBOIS MAKES AN ENTRANCE!” Christine appears in the alleyway, holding up not a bottle of Mountain Dew Red but her glass bottle of root beer. Without a second thought, she smashes it against the side of the building and then brandishes the jagged bottle top toward the two men, marching right past Michael and Jeremy. “Some things are not forgivable,” she yells out, poking the bottle top toward them. Michael watches her with equal parts admiration and concern. “Deliberate cruelty is not forgivable! It is the one unforgivable thing in my opinion and it is the one thing of which I have never, never been guilty.” With a start, Michael realizes she’s repeating her lines from “A Streetcar Named Desire.” 

The men and the woman, shocked into silence, start to slink back, and then Jake, Jenna and Rich run up into the mouth of the alley. Outnumbered, Jeremy’s tormentors weave around Christine and sprint away into the night. Jake looks like he wants to run after them but Michael shakes his head. 

Christine whirls around, still wielding the broken bottle. Her bravado disappears, though, replaced with worry. “Are you guys okay?” 


	5. That's An Order From Your Commander

In the absence of any immediate danger, Jeremy goes boneless in Michael’s arms, sinking to his knees before Michael can get a better grip on him. His hands flutter across the ground before finding the cell phone one of the men dropped in their hurry to get away. He holds it up, inspecting it in the light from the street. “Jere?” Michael asks, looking down. 

“They cracked my phone screen,” Jeremy says quietly, and then he bursts into tears again. Michael crouches down beside him, knowing it’s not really about the phone. He puts one hand out and then hesitates, letting it hover over Jeremy’s left shoulder. 

“Can I touch you?” he says in a low voice, only loud enough for Jeremy (and probably Christine) to hear. “Is that okay?” Jeremy nods furiously, making an awful sniffling-heaving-sobbing noise. Michael brings his hand down to rest on Jeremy’s upper back, just letting it sit there, hoping Jeremy knows how loved he is. Hoping Jeremy knows how fiercely grateful Michael is that he’s okay. 

They sit there for one long moment, Jeremy just trying to breathe easy again, Michael trying to channel all his rage and panic into comfort, because all his anger isn’t going to help Jeremy. 

And then suddenly the rest of the world creeps back. Chloe and Brooke catch up, Brooke needing to catch her breath as she braces herself with her hands on her knees. Chloe looks from Christine to the bottle in her hand to Michael and Jeremy, kneeling in a dirty alley. “What the hell happened here?” 

Michael just shakes his head and looks up at the group. “Let’s go home, guys.”

* * *

 

They already checked out of the hotel and loaded up the bags in the cars, so it isn’t long before Jake’s pulling back onto the highway, Rich uncharacteristically quiet in the passenger’s seat. 

Behind them, Michael’s holding Jeremy as close to him as he possibly can, seatbelts be damned. Jeremy still hasn’t stopped crying completely, but he’s coherent enough to answer yes and no questions like  _ “Do you want some ice water?”  _ and  _ “Do you want to borrow my headphones?”  _ (Yes and no.) 

“So,” Jake says as they’re crossing the Turnpike, “Michael, can you explain it again?”

Michael looks at Jeremy, and Jeremy nods. “The Squip used to punish him if he didn’t… obey,” Michael says, the word leaving an ugly taste in his mouth. “And when he had that panic attack Saturday night, it kind of… triggered him, I guess, into having to do whatever anybody told him to.” 

“Fuck,” Rich says, looking horrified. “Nothing like that ever happened to me.”

“Everyone has different reactions to trauma,” Michael points out quickly, afraid of Jeremy taking Rich’s words to mean that it’s his own fault for what happened, his own fault for being weird or different. 

Jake glances back at them in the rearview mirror. “And is he still…?”

Michael looks at Jeremy, and Jeremy nods. “Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jake sighs, turning around to pat Jeremy on the knee. “Well, we’re all here for you, pal.”

“Look at the road!” Rich squawks. They all laugh as Jake narrowly avoids crashing into the traffic barrier, and no one laughs louder than Jeremy.

But he’s still compelled to look at the road, too, because Rich said so. Because he has to obey.

* * *

 

It’s past midnight when Jake pulls up outside Jeremy’s house. “And thus the party bus ends,” he sighs dramatically, shifting into park. Jeremy reluctantly untangles from Michael and starts to get out of the car.

“Jeremy,” Michael says, snatching his wrist before he can leave, because at this point literally grabbing him feels less invasive than telling him to wait up, “do you want me to sleep over?” Jeremy nods, biting his lip. “Okay.” Michael gets out of the car, too, and gets both their duffels from the back. “Thanks for the ride, Jake.”

“Totally,” Jake says, but his eyes are on Jeremy. He looks sad. “We’ll all be thinking of you, homeslice,” he says awkwardly. “Don’t worry. Mello Yello’s totally gonna figure out how to fix this.” Michael wants to question Jake’s faith in him, but now’s not really the time. “Alright, see you.” He turns away, but then seems to remember something and sticks his head out the window again. “Jeremy, hey, Christine keeps texting me to tell me that you aren’t texting her back. She’s just worried. Text her back, okay?”

Snapping to obey, Jeremy yanks his phone out of his pocket and taps out a message to Christine. Jake looks horrified. “Fuck, shit, I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry, Jeremy.” 

“It’s okay,” Jeremy says quietly, looking down at the big crack in his phone. 

Michael leans closer to the driver’s side window. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, waving goodbye to Rich and Jake. “I’ll text everyone tomorrow and let you know how he’s doing.” 

“Okay,” Rich says. “Bye, guys.”

“Bye.” 

Jake pulls out of the driveway and leaves. 


	6. That Would Be Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO sorry for the mixup earlier. This is for real a new chapter (although the beginning might look familiar. I changed up some stuff between chapters.)

Inside, Mr. Heere’s still up, lounging on the couch and watching an old “How I Met Your Mother” rerun. He mutes the TV when he sees the boys slump inside. “Hey, how was the trip?”

“Good.”

“Fine.” Michael just wants to get Jeremy upstairs. 

“Stunning conversationalists as always,” Mr. Heere laughs. Michael starts to nudge Jeremy toward the stairs and they move, but then Jeremy’s dad speaks up again. “Aw, what are you doing? Don’t run off, stay down here and talk to me.” 

Jeremy jerks back and sits obediently on the couch, staring helplessly at his dad. Michael’s heart twinges. “Mr. Heere, Jeremy had a, uh, pretty bad panic attack in the car. Is it okay if we just talk in the morning?”

Jeremy’s dad looks concerned. “Oh, I’m… I’m sorry,” he says, clearly wanting to help but not knowing how. “Everything okay now?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, kind of wishing Jeremy would speak up for himself. “I think we both just need to rest.”

“Oh, alright,” Mr. Heere says, settling back into the couch. “Goodnight, then.”

Jeremy doesn’t budge. Michael gives him a sympathetic look before he coughs and says, “Come on, Jeremy, let’s go upstairs.” Jeremy complies. 

“Michael,” Mr. Heere calls as they near the staircase, “make sure you--”

“I’ll text my parents where I am,” Michael says quickly, before Mr. Heere can make another imperative statement. “Goodnight.”

* * *

 

When they get into Jeremy’s bedroom, the nightmare just gets worse. Because Michael realizes-- up until right now, Jeremy’s been  _ holding it together _ . All that? That was Jeremy  _ keeping it in _ . 

Alone in the comfort of his own room, Jeremy just shatters. He curls into a ball at the head of his bed and shakes, sobs working their way through his body. Michael hovers above him, wishing he knew how to fix this. 

“I couldn’t stop it,” Jeremy mumbles into his hands. “I couldn’t stop any of it. I  _ wanted to _ but I couldn’t get away and I was so scared and I j-just kept doing what they said to do.” He trembles. “I’m so sorry I punched you, Michael. I’m so so sorry, I d-didn’t want to.” 

“I know that,” Michael promises, sitting on the edge of his bed. He runs a hand through Jeremy’s soft curls, desperate to help. “Besides, it’s not like it hurt, what with your little chicken arms.” 

Jeremy laughs wetly but then goes right back to crying. “God, I’m so weak,” he curses himself, but Michael’s pretty sure he’s not talking about his chicken arms. “Can’t even do anything… I can’t even take care of myself.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Michael says, gently lowering Jeremy down onto the bed so he can more effectively put his arms around him. He wishes he could shield Jeremy from all the crap out in the world, but hugging him real tight is going to have to do for now. “You’re not weak, Jere. You’re so strong.” He presses a kiss to Jeremy’s forehead and that seems to calm him down, his whole body relaxing a little bit. “You’re so good,” Michael adds, kissing him again on the forehead. “You’re so kind,” a kiss to the center of his forehead, “you’re so wonderful,” a kiss to his left temple. 

Jeremy finally seems to be winding down, so Michael keeps it up. He kisses Jeremy on either cheek, punctuating his insistences that Jeremy is “so amazing” and “so brave.” And without really thinking about it, he moves lower and kisses Jeremy on the lips. 

For a breathtaking half-minute, it’s utterly perfect. And then Michael realizes what he’s doing and bolts upward, sitting up fully and looking upset. “Fuck. Shit.” 

“I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry,” Jeremy splutters miserably from behind him, covering his face with his hands. These days, Jeremy apologizes like a kid who broke a lamp, like he knows he did something wrong but he doesn’t know what. That’s another thing the Squip did to him, it took away his ability to actually apologize, to assess what he did wrong and actually understand why he needs to apologize. Now, Jeremy just constantly assumes he’s doing something wrong, and he needs to say sorry. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Michael assures him, breathing hard. “I did, Jeremy.  _ I’m _ sorry. I got carried away and I shouldn’t have.” It doesn’t matter how long he’s wanted to do that, now’s the opposite of the right time. Michael’s kind of angry at himself; he’s here to take care of Jeremy, not take advantage of him. 

“Oh,” Jeremy says behind him, still looking miserable. 

“Look, I… I just want you to feel better,” Michael explains. “Like I said, I got carried away. That was… that was taking advantage, and I never, ever, ever,  _ ever _ want to do that.” 

Jeremy nods, giving him a kind of strained look. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch downstairs?”

Jeremy’s eyes get wider. “No, n-no, stay, please.”

“Okay.” Michael stands up and goes to his duffel bag. “I’m just gonna get comfy, okay? And then I’ll come back to bed.” He changes out of his jeans and his binder and his shirt and pulls on sweats and a T-shirt, and then he sets his glasses carefully on Jeremy’s dresser before crawling back under the covers.

Jeremy smiles. “Comfy Michael,” he mumbles, leaning into him and looking exhausted. Even though Michael’s not wearing his glasses, he can tell that Jeremy still looks tense. 

“You look…  _ un _ comfy,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow. “You sure you want me sleeping here? I’m fine with moving if you want.”

Jeremy bites his lip. “I’m fine,” he says evasively. “If  _ you _ want to move, you can… I’m not gonna force you to share the bed. I’m just, I got used to it at the hotel and--”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Michael assures him, feeling like he’s fumbling in the dark here. “Just… is there something else bothering you?” 

“No,” Jeremy says too quickly. 

“Jeeeeeere,” Michael whines. 

“It’s nothing.”

Michael pokes him in the stomach and Jeremy laughs a little but he still doesn’t spill. “What is it?”

“Nothing!”

“What’s wrong, Jeremy?”

“There isn’t anything wrong.”

“Aw, come on, tell me!”

As soon as he says it Michael actually claps a hand over his mouth, he didn’t  _ mean to _ , it just slipped out, he was trying to wheedle, not order, but now that the command’s out he can’t reel it back in. 

Jeremy’s face drains of color and he blurts out compulsively, “You don’t want me.” He stays frozen in horror for a second before rolling over to face away from Michael, shoulders shaking as they rise and fall. 

“I’m really sorry,” Michael says quietly, looking at Jeremy’s back. “Shit, I didn’t mean to say it like that. I was just messing around, I didn’t mean to… but, hey, Jere, can I… is it okay with you if I ask you about what you just said?”

Jeremy says something, but he’s crying again and his voice is too muffled to make out. He sniffs loudly and then says more clearly, “I guess.” 

“What do you mean ‘I don’t want you’?” Michael says, because first of all, it’s absolutely the opposite of the truth (not that Jeremy’s supposed to know anything about  _ that _ ), and second of all, what even gave Jeremy the idea?

“B-because you don’t,” Jeremy says, still facing away. “That’s what you said, that’s what you  _ just _ said. You kissed me and then you said you never, never ever wanted to do that.” 

Oh.  _ Oh _ . Fuck. “That’s… not what I meant,” Michael says, stretching a hand out to rest on Jeremy’s shoulder. He flinches but doesn’t push him off. “Jeremy, you’ve been through so much tonight. You’re exhausted. I want to help you, and I don’t… I don’t want to put any pressure on you, or put you in a stressful position. You get that? It’s not that I don’t want you…” Does that mean he’s confirming that he  _ does _ want Jeremy? Is he confessing right now? Really? “I don’t want to hurt you. But… but Jeremy, you gotta know… I mean, you’re so good-hearted and funny and devoted and  _ wonderfully _ weird. Who wouldn’t want you?” 

The words inspire Jeremy. Feverishly, he rolls back toward him and surges to meet Michael’s lips in a kiss, and Michael jerks backward. Jeremy looks devastated. “Hey-- I’m…” Michael stammers, taking Jeremy’s hand in his. “I told you. We’re not doing that, not now.”

“Why not?” Jeremy demands. “If you really think I’m… I mean if you’re just making shit up… it’s okay, Michael, it’s… I know I’m ugly, and I know I’m broken… and I get it if you’re disgusted, I mean, after tonight… I was just going to let those guys in the alley do whatever with me, even if it meant using me for… for…” He sobs drily. “And I know I’m a mess--”

“Stop saying mean things about yourself,” Michael directs, and Jeremy clams up. “You’re not ugly. You’re not broken. And I could never in a million years be disgusted by you.” Jeremy trembles and then seems to settle against his chest. “What happened in the alley wasn’t your fault, and it doesn’t make you a bad person. I  _ do  _ want to kiss you, Jeremy…” And well, there it is, he’s laying his cards out on the table. “But if I did it right now, while you’re not capable of saying no, I would feel like a bad person. Does that make sense?” 

“But I am capable of saying no!” Jeremy says petulantly. “No, no, no, no, no. I can even say it in other languages. Nein. Nyet.” 

“You’re cute,” Michael says, hoping Jeremy can tell how sincerely and wholeheartedly he means that. “But look, Jere… stick out your tongue.” Jeremy tries not to but he has to comply. He sticks out his tongue. “See? We’re going to fix this, I promise. But for now, why don’t we both just get some sleep, okay?” 

“Fine,” Jeremy grumbles and settles against him. Michael is grateful that at least arguing seems to have distracted Jeremy from being anxious. “Goodnight, Michael.”

“Goodnight, Jeremy.” Michael leans forward and pecks him on the forehead. And he doesn’t know if this will work, but he tells Jeremy, “Sleep well. And have good dreams.” Maybe he can follow that order. 


	7. When I Needed Her Most

In the morning, Michael cooks up eggs and turkey bacon and babbles on about all the nice things they can do that day: snuggling on the couch and watching cartoons, playing video games, doing a puzzle, coloring in Jeremy’s vast collection of adult coloring books, playing Risk. 

He’s kind of hoping Jeremy won’t pick up on and subsequently resent the fact that all of Michael’s suggestions are designed to keep Jeremy safely in the house and away from strangers. 

“Can I combine two of the things?” Jeremy asks, reaching for a piece of turkey bacon while it’s still sizzling on the pan. Instead of ordering him not to, Michael smacks his hand the way his own abuela used to. 

“The bacon’s not done yet,” he says, smirking as Jeremy sticks his tongue out at him. “And what do you mean, combine two things?”

“Like, can we snuggle and also color?” Jeremy says, slumping into a chair at the kitchen table. 

“Sure thing, Jere,” Michael says, using the Heeres’ slightly burned spatula to transfer scrambled eggs from the pan to the plate. “We’ll have a whole day of self-care. That sounds good to me.” 

They eat, Jeremy wrinkling his nose when Michael gets his greasy fingers on the morning newspaper and Michael flicking pieces of paper towel across the table to mess with him. Jeremy’s dad has work, so they get the TV, compiling an assortment of blankets and pillows on the living room couch before Jeremy starts flipping through Netflix to find something good. 

Michael goes upstairs and comes back down with a stack of colored pencils and coloring books, and he spreads them out on the coffee table. “I forgot you had this one with all the outer space designs, that’s awesome,” Michael says, opening up that book and glancing through some of the pictures. Some of them are colored, purple and orange Saturns and yellow and green stars, careful blue shading. “Mind if I do this one?” he asks, pointing to a picture of a satellite passing Jupiter. 

“Knock yourself out.”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “If I were you, I’d be a little more cautious about idioms like that,” he says, snickering. “’Cause what if  _ I _ said something like that, huh? You’d probably end up taking it a little too literally.”

“Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“Go fuck yourself.” Jeremy waggles his eyebrows and Michael cracks up, pushing at him lightly with his foot as he leans back on the couch. “Besides, I’m… well, I’m not  _ fixed _ . Like, I think so. Tell me to do something.” 

“Uh, sing to me.”

It’s like hitting a button on a jukebox. “ _ I wanna dance with somebody _ ,” Jeremy sings. “ _ I wanna feel the heat with somebody. Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody. With somebody who loves me. _ ”

“Okay, okay, stop,” Michael says, and even though he’s smiling at Jeremy’s voice, he’s still sincerely worried. 

“Made me go on for a long enough time, you jerk,” Jeremy laughs, flopping back on the couch. 

“Sorry, man, you have the voice of an angel,” Michael says, patting his elbow. “And… somebody does love you.”

“Sap,” Jeremy says, but he’s grinning. “C’mon, let’s get our coloring book on.”

* * *

 

They put on “Finding Dory” and start to color, but between the cushy blankets and the soft patter of summer rain on the windows, Jeremy conks out after about an hour. Michael tries to ignore the way his heart squeezes in his chest when he looks at Jeremy sleeping, peppered with acne and freckles, a string of spittle leading away from his lips, bangs falling in his face. He’s beautiful.

Jeremy sleeps through the end of “Finding Dory” and almost to the end of “Lilo and Stitch.” When he wakes up, Michael’s excited to tell him about the new plan. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Michael teases, even though it’s past one now. “While you were sleeping I did some research on brainwashing and deprogramming.”

Jeremy gives him a bleary look as he tries to straighten his hair (and only results in making it look more endearingly messy). “It’s not like I’m drinking the Kool-Aid, Michael.”

“I know, but I still think the deprogramming stuff is a good place to start,” Michael continues, trying to keep his hopes up. “This blog post I found says the first step is admitting you were controlled… which you did! Good job.”

“Yay me,” Jeremy grumbles, reaching for a handful of Skittles. 

“Step two is not being isolated,” Michael says. “You’re supposed to get help from people who care about you.”

“Done.” Jeremy puts a hand on Michael’s shoulder. 

Michael nods slowly. “You know I’ve got your back on this,” he says. “And everything else. But… I think maybe you should tell the girls.” 

Jeremy pales. “No, n-no, I can’t do that,” he stammers. “Telling Jake and Rich was hard enough, I c-can’t tell them…”

“They all care about you,” Michael reminds him, looking sad. “They just want to help you.”

“No, no, no,” Jeremy says, shaking his head rapidly back and forth. “You know Brooke would just look at me like I’m a dog in one of those sad Sarah  McLachlan SPCA commercials, and Jenna would make such a huge deal about the whole thing and… I just c-can’t, I can’t tell them…”

“Okay, okay,” Michael says, for now just wanting him to calm down. “Jeremy, it’s okay, we don’t have to tell anyone you don’t want to tell. But… but what about Christine, okay? What about  _ just _ Christine?” Jeremy stares at him apprehensively. “C’mon, that girl came at two giant guys with a broken bottle for you. She’d go to the ends of this flat earth for you, you know that.” 

“I… guess,” Jeremy says, picking at a hangnail. “I just don’t want her all worried about me.”

“She’s already worried about you,” Michael says. “Let her do something about it. Let her help.”

Jeremy ultimately agrees, and Michael drafts a text to Christine about the whole situation. She responds by calling him immediately and yelling into his ear for about twenty minutes before she calms down and starts talking strategy.

* * *

 

It’s about two days later when Michael explains the plan to Jeremy. They’re standing in Jeremy’s backyard with Christine, who’s nervously fiddling with the cuffs of her denim shorts. “So Christine had the idea,” Michael says, “of giving you commands that you physically can’t follow.” 

“Mm-hmm,” Christine confirms, looking from Michael to Jeremy. “If you’re okay with that, I mean. I just thought… maybe… if it was something you  _ literally _ couldn’t do it might, like, jog your brain? Like it would trip you up enough that the trigger wouldn’t work anymore.”

“That makes sense to me,” Jeremy says. He’s obviously anxious, but Michael can tell from the set of his shoulders that he wants to try. 

That doesn’t mean he’s not going to double-check. “You sure about this, Jeremy?” he says. “It’s never too late to back out.”

“No, I… I can do this,” Jeremy says, making his hands into fists at his sides and then unfurling them, taking two deep breaths. “I want to do this.”

“Okay,” Christine says. She steps back and holds her hand out, like she’s casting a spell. “Do a jump-kick!”

He does. Pretty well. 

“Yeah, he’s actually super good at that,” Michael tells Christine, trying not to laugh. “Maybe pick something else.”

Jeremy’s grinning. Christine looks cautious. “Um,” she says. “Do a pirouette.”

And then she and Michael watch as Jeremy executes a perfect pirouette. “Miss Canigula, you wound me,” Jeremy tells her in mock indignation. “What kind of an actor would I be if I couldn’t even pirouette?” 

Michael and Christine crack up, and Jeremy just looks proud of himself. “Okay, okay, wait, I got it,” Christine announces, holding her hands up again. “Jeremy… lick your elbow.”

He lurches down and to the left as he attempts it, his tongue sticking out of his mouth like a lizard, his arm bent toward his chin. But no matter how hard he bends and twists, how far he sticks his tongue out, he can’t do it. Jeremy giggles at himself and Christine and Michael join in, kind of relieved that they found something Jeremy can’t do. 

Something unknots in Michael’s chest. It feels good to laugh, and it feels  _ great _ to see Jeremy laugh. He really does look ridiculous as he curves his back, trying as hard as he can to make his tongue touch the tip of his elbow. 

They’re laughing, and Jeremy’s twisting himself into a pretzel and… and suddenly it stops being funny. Jeremy can’t lick his elbow, but he hasn’t stopped trying. His arm bends a little unnaturally as he tries to get closer, his neck cranes. It looks painful. 

And Jeremy starts to whimper, “N-no, stop, stop it, stop it,  _ please _ , I’m sorry, stop, STOP.”

His face is red, he’s crying, but he can’t move except to inch his tongue closer to his elbow, contorted uncomfortably. Still he’s trying, still he’s struggling to follow the command...

“Jeremy, stop doing that!” Christine yells, tears pricking her eyes.

Grateful, Jeremy straightens back out, his arm falling limp at his side. 

His eyes, when they meet Michael’s, look absolutely horrified.


End file.
